The Redemption of David Corson eBook

The turn which had been given to the emotions of these
quiet people by the reading of the parable had been
so sudden and so powerful that perhaps not a single
person in the room doubted that David and Pepeeta
would at once rise and enter into that holy contract
for which the way seemed to have been so easily opened
by the tender story of the father’s love for
the prodigal son.

But it was the unexpected which happened. The
soul of David Corson had passed through one of those
genuine and permanent revolutions which sometimes
take place in the nature of man. He had completed
the cycle of revolt and anarchy to which he had been
condemned by his inheritance from a wild and profligate
father. Whether that fever had run its natural
course or whether as David himself believed, he had
been rescued by an act of divine intervention, it
is certain that the change was as actual as that which
takes place when a grub becomes a butterfly. It
was equally certain that from this time onward it
was the mental and spiritual characteristics of his
mother which manifested themselves in his spiritual
evolution.

He became his true self—­a saint, an ascetic,
a mystic, a potential martyr.

When he rose to his feet a moment after the reader
had finished, his face shining with an inward light
and glowing with a sublime purpose, all believed that
he was about to summon Pepeeta to their marriage.

What was the astonishment, then, when in rapt words
he began:

“God has spoken to us, my friends. We have
heard his voice. It is too soon for me to enjoy
this bliss! Yes, I will wait! I will dedicate
this year to meditation and prayer. Pepeeta,
wilt thou join me in this resolution? If thou
wilt, let the betrothal of this night be one of soul
to soul and both our souls to God! Give me thine
hand.”

Still under the spell of strange spiritual emotions
to which her sensitive spirit vibrated like the strings
of an AEolian harp, Pepeeta rose, and placing her
hands in those of her lover, looked up into his face
with a touching confidence, an almost adoring love.
It was more like the bridal of two pure spirits than
the betrothal of a man and woman!

Not one of those who saw it has ever forgotten that
strange scene; it is a tradition in that community
until this day. They felt, and well they might,
those strange people who had dedicated themselves and
their children to the divine life, that in this scene
their little community had attained the zenith of
its spiritual history.

No wonder that from an English statesman this eulogy
was once wrung: “By God, sir, we cannot
afford to persecute the Quakers! Their religion
may be wrong, but the people who cling to an idea
are the very people we want. If we must persecute—­let
us persecute the complacent!”